


Let's Unwrite These Pages

by Agapostemon



Series: The Sound of Shattered Glass [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grey-Asexual Shiro, M/M, Matt Holt has PTSD, POV Shiro (Voltron), Past Rape/Non-con, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agapostemon/pseuds/Agapostemon
Summary: “Can I touch you?”Matt gives a jerky nod, but as soon as Shiro’s hand touches his shoulder he flinches away. So Shiro withdraws his hand with a frown.“Nevermind, I guess,” Matt mumbles, his voice halfway between sheepish and bitter.“Sorry,” Shiro says, face flushing at his mistake. It’s not like he could’ve known, he reminds himself. It’s not like either of them could’ve known. But the guilt weighs down on his chest until he feels like he’s suffocating.





	Let's Unwrite These Pages

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Non-graphic discussion of past rape, non-explicit sexual content, mature language
> 
> This is a follow-up to [This Awful Energy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9933557), though you don't necessarily have to read that to understand this. I've been tossing this headcanon around since I wrote that a couple months ago, but it's taken me forever to actually write it because Touchy Subjects and all that. (The Matt Chat was discussing angsty headcanons and reminded me of my desire to write this, so... HERE GOES? It's high time for some Matt trauma feels, after all the attention I've given to Shiro's trauma.)

“You sure you’re comfy with this?” Matt says, running an open palm down the front of Shiro’s boxers. It’s the third time he’s asked that night.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, reaching up to tangle his left hand in Matt’s mess of copper hair. He’s lying on his back in nothing but his underwear as Matt hovers over him in a similar state of undress. They’ve been dancing around this moment for months, now. Most of the reluctance has been on Shiro’s end, which he’s trying not to feel bad about. Matt has told him time and time again not to feel bad. (He still feels bad.)

But right now he wants this. Right now he’s comfortable. And that’s what matters.

And Matt is more than happy to oblige. “Well in that case,” he says, thumbing at Shiro’s waistband, “Let’s get you out of these, hm?”

Shiro nods his permission and lifts his hips to make his partner’s job easier. Matt shoots him a fond, mischievous smile and tugs away his boxers, then runs a gentle hand up Shiro’s leg.

Until he hits a cluster of claw-shaped scars on Shiro’s inner thigh and his breath catches.

“Something wrong?” asks Shiro, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“Oh…” Matt’s brow furrows as he runs his fingers over the scars, followed by the matching scars on Shiro’s hips.

Shiro frowns and runs his fingers through Matt’s hair, entirely uncertain what is happening or why. Did he do something wrong? If he did, he has no idea what.

“Why didn’t you tell me…?” Matt looks like he’s on the brink of tears, and Shiro has no idea why.

Why didn’t he tell him what?

Shit.

He knows that look of blank horror in Matt’s eyes all too well.

“Matt, are you with me?” Shiro asks, scrambling into a sitting position and pulling a blanket over his lap, “D’you know where you are?”

Instead of answering Shiro’s question, Matt withdraws and curls into himself, muttering “no no no” into his knees.

“No you don’t know where you are, are no to something else?” Shiro asks, trying to hide the panic rising in his own voice.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Matt repeats, his voice cracking.

A pang of guilt wraps around Shiro’s heart like a vice. He’s not sure what it is he neglected to tell his partner, but he’s fairly certain he should feel bad. “Matt…” he says, reaching out a hand and letting it hover uncertainly over Matt’s bare shoulder, “Can I touch you?”

Matt gives a jerky nod, but as soon as Shiro’s hand touches his shoulder he flinches away. So Shiro withdraws his hand with a frown.

“Nevermind, I guess,” Matt mumbles, his voice halfway between sheepish and bitter.

“Sorry,” Shiro says, face flushing at his mistake. It’s not like he could’ve known, he reminds himself. It’s not like either of them could’ve known. But the guilt weighs down on his chest until he feels like he’s suffocating.

They sit in heavy silence for the next several minutes, Matt rocking back and forth slightly as Shiro tries desperately to come up with a way to make things right again. But he can’t fix a problem if he doesn’t even know what it is. So all he manages to do is spiral into a panic of his own.

Eventually his whirling thoughts are interrupted by Matt’s shaky voice, almost inaudible as he speaks into his own knees, “Who did that to you?”

The question catches Shiro off-guard. He’s not even sure what the question is about, much less how to answer. So all he manages is a strangled “um…”

Which plunges them back into silence for another minute or two before Matt whispers “shit” under his breath.

Shiro gives him a worried, quizzical look.

“Shit shit shit,” Matt repeats, his voice breaking, “You don’t know, do you? You don’t even remember it. Shit.”

Don’t remember? Don’t remember… oh god. Clarity washes over Shiro, bringing with it a tidal wave of nausea. He’d tried so hard not to guess at the origins of his scars, but now Matt had done it for him and he can’t push the image out of his mind. The image of what might’ve happened to him during his time with the Galra.

Of what might’ve happened to _Matt_.

“You remember, though. Don’t you?” Shiro says quietly.

Matt responds by tugging down the edge of his boxers just enough to reveal a shockingly similar set of scars on his hip, “Guess we match.” It’s a feeble attempt at humor, but Shiro can’t help but smile.

“I dunno what’s worse,” says Shiro, his voice playful but hollow, “remembering or forgetting.”

Matt snorts, “I think ‘being raped by imperialist aliens’ ranks pretty high on the suckiness scale whether you remember it or not.”

“Fair,” Shiro responds with a tired shrug. Somehow having it out in the open has melted away his anxiety and replaced it with bone-deep exhaustion.

“So, uh… I guess this,” Matt gestures between himself and Shiro, “isn’t happening tonight, huh?”

Shiro averts his eyes and nervously scratches at the back of his own neck, “Guess not.”

“Looks like we’ve got some talking to do, first,” Matt says.

“You wanna talk about it tonight, or uh…” Shiro steals a glance at his partner, who shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m well on my way to migraine hell. Let’s do the sleep thing.”

Shiro nods in agreement, “You okay with me touching you, or would you rather go back to your room for tonight?”

“Uh…” Matt frowns.

“I won’t be offended if you wanna sleep alone, tonight,” Shiro assures. It’s mostly the truth, but he still secretly hopes Matt stays with him for the night. He tries to push away that selfish thought.

“I don’t think… hands on me…” Matt stammers, fidgeting uncomfortably, “Can I be big spoon?”

The tension drains out of Shiro’s body, “Of course. Yeah. I’m gonna… pajamas.” He’d gotten into the habit of sleeping in his boxers with Matt since they became a couple, but tonight that feels a little too vulnerable. So he digs out his mostly-neglected Altean pajamas and slips those on before detaching his prosthetic and crawling back into bed.

Matt seems to agree, because he grabs Shiro’s bathrobe and wraps it around himself before rejoining his companion. Once they’re both laying down, Matt wraps himself around Shiro from behind and buries his face in his neck.

“Can I hold your hand?” asks Shiro, “Or is that…”

Matt nods, his hair ticking the back of Shiro’s neck, “Go for it.”

So Shiro takes Matt’s hand and squeezes it in his own, pulling it tight against his chest. After several minutes of listening to Matt’s steady breathing against his back, he whispers sleepily, “I’m sorry they hurt you.” The ‘I’m sorry I let them’ is implied.

“Fuck the Galra,” Matt mumbles back. The ‘quit beating yourself up over things you had no control over’ is implied.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember that I write purely for fun and catharsis. My fics are unbeta’d and minimally proofread. They’re not perfect, and that’s okay. If you notice something I could fix or improve, please keep those thoughts to yourself. If I genuinely want critique, I’ll ask a close friend in private. **Surprise critiques are very stressful and discouraging.** Thanks for understanding!


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